


All the Melting Snow in Spring

by hanekawa



Category: Kamen Rider W | Masked Rider Double
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanekawa/pseuds/hanekawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens only once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Melting Snow in Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This is set some time shortly after Begins Night.
> 
> Originally posted in 2011.06.12 [here.](http://mi-key.livejournal.com/50932.html)

.

.

.

Once, just once, Shoutarou lets his anger and frustration run, dumping it all on the nearest person he could find—which, of course, happens to be Philip.

He grabs Philip’s shoulders so hard it has to hurt, and. And underneath his hands, he could feel the fragility of a human body, of Philip’s bony shoulders, of how easy it would be to crush this boy – because he _is_ a boy, not a man (and may never be). He’s shouting things he doesn’t even understand, things he would rather forget, things he would never let himself _think_ , let alone get them out of his mouth in any other circumstance—

 _\--it’s your fault he’s dead, dead, dead--_

and

 _\--if only—if only you *never* existed--_

So when he wakes up hang over the next morning to find Philip’s gone, it’s still a surprise—even though it shouldn’t be.

The first thing he does is contact the Watcherman. It’s only when Watcherman tries to repeat Shoutarou’s description of Philip back to Shoutarou (“a sixteen-year-old boy, cute, has nearly the same height as you, and…what did you say his name again?”) that Shoutarou realizes one little detail:

Philip does *not* exist.

As in, none’s supposed to know of his existence, and he has no record whatsoever. ‘Philip’ isn’t even the kid’s real name.

He considers cancelling his search request to Watcherman. It’s not worth it if it would only attract the organization to their current whereabouts. It’s not worth the trouble. He considers cancelling it.

He ends up instructing Watcherman to list Inspector Jinno’s help instead.

  
*

By the time he’s exhausted enough that even that annoying Makuro actually sending him concerned glances and kicking him home to rest, night has fallen. The Detective Agency is dark, a contrast to the brightly lit surrounding of the neighborhood. What does he expect, really? Of course it would be dark. There’s none there, after all. None to switch on the lights inside. None to welcome him back. Only an empty building and even emptier basement.

He sighs. Looks down at his shoes. Tries to drag himself to walk that few steps over to the front door of the Agency. As he reaches for the keys inside his pocket, he lifts his eyes to the door, and—

Stops.

Something—someone?—is curled up into a ball in front of the door, hands around knees, face hidden beneath bent head and unruly dark hair.

Shoutarou dares not hope. “Philip?” he calls, hesitantly. Terrified. _Oh god please let it be—_

The mess of unruly hair lifts its head, one visible eye crinkling slightly in Shoutaoru’s direction. “Hey.” The kid says. Awkward. Unsure. More than a little scared.

He sounds like he’s expecting nothing more than a rejection.

Because—because the kid might act like a super computer most of the time, but he used to interact with humans on regular basis in that lab, and some of human emotions should eventually rub off on him. Even if the one thing he remembers most seem to be the bitter feeling of _disappointment._. Of being _rejected._

Shoutarou bites his lip. “Phi—”

“I,” the kid says, voice small, and still as terrified, “I’m sorry. _I’m sorry_. I’m sorry for coming back here, but. But that lab back then was burned to the ground, and I. I mean, I checked. This morning. There’s only ruins there now, and. And I don’t.” He looks back down at the ground, “…and I don’t know where else to go.”

Shoutarou’s heart breaks.

In a heartbeat, Shoutarou’s crossed the space between them, knees on the ground, his arms around the kid, pulling him into an embrace. The kid (Philip, his name is Philip now) lets out a surprise _Ow._

“Hey,” Shoutarou says, trying and failing to form a coherent sentence in his mouth. “Hey.”

Philip’s so rigid in his arms, tense, his body a ball of nerves stretched too thin—just a little more, and he might just break for real. There’s a slight tremor running though his body, and Shoutarou feels cold all over where his touch meets Philip’s skin.

“Hey,” Shoutarou says again, tightening his hold around Philip, “I’m the one who should apologize. I’m the one who is—at fault. It’s not—“ he feels Philip tense at the last word, and. And Shoutarou thinks his heart has just broken a little bit more.

What—what did they always tell you there, to make you this, this wary of the word n—

“This is,” Shoutarou says, “this agency is your home now. You could come back here anytime you want; you _should_ come back here. This agency is your home—as long as you want it. As long as you wish for it. You’re free to leave anytime you wish, just as you’re free to stay. Even if I,” he pulls away, his palms cupping Philip’s face, forcing him to look at him.

“Even if I would prefer it, if you could stay. With me. So.” he tries to smile, but it comes out all wrong, like a sob. “ _Please stay._ ”

For a moment, he thinks Philip would bolt again; would run again, since he’s trembling so much right now, and really, Shoutarou’s not surprised if now he’s also included to the list of people Philip is terrified of.

But then Philip looks at him; really looks at him, searching, his lips quivering as he parts them to say, “I just. I just want a place to belong.”

“Then _stay_.” _Don’t make me lose you too._

“I’m sorry.” Philip says again, as his hand tentatively reaches for Shoutarou’s sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. So please, raise your head. It’s—” not your fault. Never yours. _Never yours._ “It’s gonna be okay. _We’re_ gonna be okay.”

Philip’s fingers curl further on Shoutarou’s sleeve, gripping the fabric tight. Shoutarou immediately envelopes him once more as a response and just—

Holds on.

“It’s okay.” He whispers into Philip’s hair, softly, firmly. “It’s really gonna be okay.”

He’d make sure of that.

.

.

.  



End file.
